


if you can dodge a wrench

by hoppnhorn



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teacher, Basically, Billy is a the worst, Dustin is an awful wingman, M/M, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Steve Needs to get Laid, everyone works in an elementary school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: Steve is an art teacher who just wants to get through the week without losing hisgoddamnmind.





	1. Chapter 1

monday

Steve doesn’t really know how else to describe Billy Hargrove. Asshole just seems to fit. Well.

With Starbucks, aviators and what is clearly yesterday’s beard growth, he stands out front of the school, not five feet from Steve, and spits. 

_ Classy _ .

There’s been a steady trickle of students so far, dropped off by parents before the majority of buses have made their stop. 

“Mr. Harrington!” A little girl with blonde hair like wisps of wind waves from across the parking lot and instantly his irritation melts. Lacy Morris. Second grade. Gifted student, however a lousy drawer, despite his best efforts. It’s that damn left hand. Smears everything.

“No one likes a kiss up, Morris.” Hargrove snorts from nearby, punctuating his little quip with a slurp of coffee. It smells good but Steve wishes he’d spill the stuff down his white polo.

Lacy only falters for a second before she giggles and skips by, undeterred. Already a flirty thing at seven. Steve sighs and makes a face in Hargrove’s general direction.

_ Asshole _ .

“Are you ever even  _ remotely _ civil?” 

Hargrove doesn’t even bother to turn his head to let Steve know he hears him. He just, grins.

“Wanna hug it out, Harrington?” 

_ Not likely _ . Steve doesn’t give him the pleasure of a response, but instead puts on his best Monday morning smile as the first bus of the day pulls in. 

“Good morning!” His students light up as they descend the steps, feet landing on pavement with little slaps. He’s lucky most kids like art, or his class. They have fun in his class.

“Mr. Harrington, can we paint today?” Paul Rittle, the smallest five-year-old in existence, chirps from Steve’s side. He squats to look the boy in the eye. 

“We’re working on collage. Remember, buddy?” 

“Oh yeah.” Paul sticks out a fat bottom lip and Steve is tempted to poke it back into his mouth. He chuckles and rustles black curls instead. 

“You liked using the scissors though, remember?” 

“Oh yeah.” This time, Paul’s eyes brighten. 

_ Cute little stinker.  _

“Come on, Rittle. Scoot.” Hargrove calls. 

Yeah, maybe the kid is lingering but...he’s _ five _ . Steve frowns up at the scruffy blond as Paul scampers away. 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,  _ seriously _ . This isn’t a meet ‘n greet, Harrington. Some of us have actual work to get to.” Hargrove chooses that moment to walk a few paces down the sidewalk so Steve can’t retort. Even if he wanted to. 

“Says the guy who teaches glorified indoor recess.” He grumbles to himself as he watches the guy go, not noticing how his khaki’s grip his ass.

Not at all.

  
  


He takes lunch duty for Nancy, because he’s nice like that and Nancy is so pregnant she can’t handle the smell of ketchup without turning green. And the cafeteria always, somehow, reeks of the stuff. Standing at the back of the room, he smiles when Dustin saunters up and leans beside him on the wall.

“I fucking hate kids.” His friend mutters. 

Steve snorts. Louder than he means to and a few heads turn and he covers his mouth, coughs.

“No, you don’t.”

“Actually, I do. They’re animals.” 

Dustin teaches fifth graders, which is a razor’s edge. They’re angels one day and complete monsters the next. 

“It’s Monday. They’ll tucker out by Wednesday.”

“I know the feeling.” Dustin mumbles. “Mike and I are hitting up The Hawk for happy hour. Tell me you’re gonna show.”

He likes Mike, mostly, but it’s weird. For god's sake, he used to fuck the guy’s sister. That’s  _ weird _ . Dustin makes a face. 

“Dick.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.” 

“Your face did.” Dustin sighs. “When was the last time you went out anyway?” 

_ Before Nancy was married and knocked up by some hipster photographer _ .

“I think I’m growing out of the whole, bar scene.”  _ Lie _ . “You realize how expensive going out to drink is? I can stay home and get wasted for half the money.”

Dustin nods.

“Right on. So when should I come over?”

“Christ.” 

He laughs and a few of the kids look over. One smiles and waves and something inside Steve warms. 

“I miss you, man.” Dustin sighs. “We used to party all the time.” 

“Which was cute when we didn’t have to be at work before eight in the morning. Also, how can you miss someone when you see them every  _ freaking _ day?”

“I’ll rephrase. I miss  _ cool _ you.”

Steve mutters a  _ gee thanks  _ as Tracy Phillips stands up and walks over, pigtails swaying as she goes. 

“Mr. Henderson, can I go to the bathroom?” His friend’s mouth lifts at the corners a little. Dustin’s a good teacher. Young.  _ Whiny _ . But still a good teacher. 

“Can you, or may you?” He asks. Tracy makes a face. 

Then pukes on Dustin’s shoes.

  
  


In the teacher’s lounge, Hargrove says, “Nice catch, Henderson.” Dustin dumps a salad labeled  _ Hargrove _ in the trash and Steve stays away from the lounge the rest of the day.

  
  


wednesday

Maxine and Lucas, the school’s new faculty  _ it  _ couple, corner Steve by the library during recess. They have a friend, a classmate from college, they want Steve to meet. She’s  _ cute _ and  _ sweet _ and sounds like the last four dates he’s been forced into, which makes him want to pluck his eyes out with the weak plastic spoons from the cafeteria. 

“She does something with computers.” Lucas blurts, like  _ something with computers _ is a selling point. Max rolls her eyes, swats his arm. 

“She’s a graphic designer. How many times—”

“Look guys, that’s nice of you…” Steve tries to back away, look busy, somehow slink away to his classroom. Blind dates are gross but double dates are just...agony. 

“Steve, you’ll never find someone if you don’t  _ try. _ ” Max likes to state the obvious, from time to time, and usually Steve can point it out and get a good laugh. But the sad look on her face combined with a supportive nod from Lucas makes Steve sigh. 

“What time?” 

  
  


Hargrove is teaching dodgeball again, it seems, because Tyler Ross shows up to his class with a bruise under his eye and a dripping baggy of ice to mash against his face.

  
  


When Caitlin Miller shows up with a skinned knee, Steve makes a point to find Hargrove in the teacher’s lounge. 

“If I have one more kid come to class injured, I’m going to go talk to Hopper.” Their principle is about as aloof as can be; but Florence, his secretary, always takes Steve’s side. And really, Hopper takes his orders from Flo. 

“Oh  _ boo hoo _ , Harrington. Some uncoordinated kid wasn’t paying attention, turned their back to a room full of third graders with  _ bad aim  _ and bit it. How is that  _ my  _ fault?” Hargrove chomps on kale like it should be something more...meaty. Steve doesn’t know how he eats the stuff without burying it in dressing. It tastes like turf. 

“Can’t you get those foam balls that are...softer?” He knows it was a dumb thing to say the second it comes out of his mouth. The laugh that fills the little room is dripping with sarcasm.

“Are my balls not soft enough for you, sweetheart?”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“You know what I mean—”

“Listen.” Hargrove leans forward, points a metal fork at him and peels back his lips to bare flawless, white teeth. “When I want advice from some crayola pusher, I’ll ask.”

Steve squints, like somehow that’s going to intimidate a man armed with  _ actual _ silverware.

“One more bruised kid, Hargrove, and I’m going to Hopper.”

He doesn’t like that Hargrove grins. 

And that it makes him shiver.

  
  


Nancy finds him after school lets out, when the roar of children thundering through the halls has subsided to only a few stragglers. She waddles into his classroom as he’s straightening up the debris from the last class of the day. Someone managed to drop what feels like a  _ thousand _ colored pencils on the floor and he’s under a desk when Nancy’s slender ankles pop into view. He promptly slams his head into the underside of the table. 

“Oh Steve!” Her voice rings in his ears as she gingerly touches his shoulder. He slips from beneath the desk, rubbing his head. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.” He puts on a good impression of a smile and she buys it. She always did. Even when she’d told him that she’d  _ fallen in love _ and  _ it all happened so fast _ , he’d managed to convince her that his heart wasn’t lying shattered at her feet. 

His eyes inevitably fall to her swollen belly and he swallows down the sour taste of jealousy. 

“What can I do for you, mama?” He asks cheerfully, walking over to his desk to busy his hands and distract his head. Nancy’s face warms and he can see how his kindness eases her mind. 

“I just wanted to see how you were.” 

He glances at her over his shoulder and his face falls when he sees the concern wrinkling her brow.

“Who told you?” Steve groans, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Was it Dustin?” 

“Mike.” 

“Mike?” Steve scoffs, sits back on his desk. “He wasn’t there. Heck, no one was.” 

“I think he listens in on the intercoms.” Nancy says with an arched brow, giving the phone on Steve’s desk a pointed look. He snorts. But Nancy only shrugs, like it’s totally normal for some bratty, glorified, help desk nerd to bug their classrooms. “So you went up against Hargrove, huh?” She prods. 

Leaning down, Steve speaks directly into the phone.

“I’m not afraid of telling some grumpy jock to eat my shorts.” 

Nancy’s grin is dazzling. 

“Look at you, champion for the little guy.” 

There’s something about the way she says the words that makes him flinch, clear his voice and smile down at the floor. Even when they’d been together, Nancy hadn’t ever looked up to him as a savior. He wasn’t the type to end a fight. He wasn’t a dominant male who bared his teeth and made his strength known. He was the  _ nice guy _ . He was the boyfriend who held the door, kept his hands to himself and didn’t use tongue on a first date. 

Parents loved him. 

Nancy dumped him after over a year with almost no warning. He’d been thinking about maybe proposing, even looked at what kind of ring he could afford with his salary. Next thing he knew, she’s dating some local artist and frenching the guy outside Starbucks when all Steve had wanted that morning was a cup of coffee and to pretend he wasn’t still  _ miserable. _

Steve is the champion of getting his ass kicked by karma. 

Or something. 

Life maybe. 

“I was just…” He picks at one of the chucky pink erasers on his desk, brushes red dust against the pad of his thumb. “He’s sending me eight-year-olds fresh from the nurse’s office. I’d had it.” For some reason, he punctuates the statement with a snort. 

“He’s an asshole.” Nancy concurs, setting a soft hand on his restless one and tapping her little fingertips on his knuckles. “I just wanted to make sure he didn’t...I don’t know...threaten you.” 

_ Jesus _ . 

Steve holds in the sigh that builds in his lungs. Was he really so  _ pathetic _ that he needs a seven-month-pregnant woman to make sure he hadn’t been bullied by a gym rat?

His smile is a little less convincing, he can see it in Nancy’s eyes this time. 

“I’m fine, Nance.” 

_ After all, Hargrove isn’t the one who broke my heart. _

  
  


The double date is a dud. He pays for dinner but isn’t the least bit surprised when she doesn’t ask for his number. It doesn’t really bother him because he doesn’t ask for hers.

  
  


thursday

Before the buses arrive, Hargrove stands close enough to Steve on the sidewalk that he can smell his cologne. Usually, he can ignore how good it is, can push the thought into the back of his head where it’s harmless. 

But he hasn’t been laid in months and Hargrove smells like sex, coffee and sporty cologne and it’s been a  _ long goddamn time _ so he makes a noise, a ragged sort of noise, and Hargrove arches an eyebrow over his coffee cup. 

“Got a problem, Harrington?” 

“Allergies.”

  
  


Sydney Cross’s mother sends cookies with her to school again, the words “Mr. Harrington” written across masking tape on a little tin in neat, feminine handwriting. He takes the offered gift with a smile that verges on a grimace and Sydney thinks nothing of it. She’s seven. She doesn’t realize that her mother is only sending  _ one _ of her teachers goodies for a reason.

Poor Sydney doesn’t realize that her mother is lonely and after her art teacher’s cock. 

Steve hands the tin over to Dustin the second he sees him in the cafeteria and the guy is quick to shovel one into his gob, moaning around a huge mouthful. 

“You’re the absolute worst.” His friend groans, shoves another bite in before the first is even clear of the hatch. “I work my ass off teaching these fuckers how to survive in the world while you teach them how to finger paint and  _ you’re  _ the one getting cookies.” 

“If one more person mentions finger painting to me this week…” He sighs and shakes his head while Dustin snorts. 

“I take it you didn’t get laid last night.” Steve sighs a second time and Dustin simply pops the rest of his cookie in his mouth with a roll of his eyes. “I’m amazed. Truly. You are blessed with  _ that _ face and  _ that _ hair and even  _ you  _ can’t manage to get a girl’s number.”

“How do you know I didn’t get her number?” The halt in chewing is a dead giveaway and Steve groans. “Jesus, was it the group thing  _ again _ ?” 

“We worry about you.” Dustin rationalizes and Steve pushes on his eyelids with his fingers until he can see white. Dustin, Max, Max’s best friend El, Lucas, Mike, and Mike’s roommate Will are on a group text that occasionally meddles in his love life, among other things. If one of the party passes along info, the whole group knows in seconds. 

It’s terrible.

“I heard you ordered a Diet Coke.” Dustin says, eyebrows high on his forehead. “We both know you’re checked out the second you order a  _ Diet Coke _ on a  _ date _ .” 

“That has got to be the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Steve mutters, shaking his head as he looks out at the cafeteria. It’s french toast stick day so there will be puddles of maple syrup everywhere. But the kids are better behaved on french toast stick day, too preoccupied with horking down sugary goodness to cause mayhem. Thankfully.

“You’re avoiding the subject.” Dustin says with a mouth full of cookie. “You’re dialing it in on the ladies, pal.” Steve winces before he makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. 

“Maybe I’m bored of the ladies.” 

Dustin stops chewing again and Steve smirks. He knows his friend is recalling the time he’d walked in on Steve getting blown by a guy in a bar bathroom. He also knows that Dustin has always wanted to  _ ask _ him about it. But never has.

“If you want dudes, I can find you eligible dudes.” Dustin taps him with the tin and Steve meets his eye. “Seriously. I know a few guys—”

“Oh my god.” He’s exhausted but there’s something endearing about his friend taking things in stride. Steve hasn’t really put a label on his sexuality, but admitting his attraction to men out loud, to someone other than a  _ gay man _ , feels good. It feels, liberating. Steve is smiling when he claps a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “Just shut up and eat the damn cookies.” 

“Who’s your type?” Dustin prys and some crumbs fall from his lips to his shirt. Steve rolls his eyes and walks away, trying not to think about the smell of coffee and cologne.

  
  


friday

Florence remembers that it’s Steve’s birthday. It’s sweet, really, that she took the time to make note of the date somewhere on a calendar when his own mother can’t be bothered to remember the day he’d nearly split her in half. But he’s used to his family forgetting, he’s not used to Nancy forgetting. She’d been the one who had used to insist he have a party every year. 

But this year, it seems, even she’s forgotten him. Which is  _ fine _ except that it makes him wonder why  _ he  _ even bothers remembering his birthday. 

Flo gives him a card and a kiss on the cheek when she spots him in the morning, before there’s anyone there to notice. It’s the most affection he’s received in months and it’s truly sad that the dry peck of an old woman gives him goosebumps.

  
  


He recognizes Jonathan lingering outside his classroom before the morning bell rings and Steve is tempted to pretend he  _ didn’t _ see him but he doesn’t get a chance; the guy strides inside his empty room without an invitation. 

“Hey Steve.” He says his name like they’re  _ friends _ even though they very much  _ aren’t _ and Steve holds in a grimace as he smiles. 

“Jonathan, how’s it going?” He’d offer his hand but he really just doesn’t want to and Jonathan’s stay shoved in his pockets. 

“It’s good.” There’s a little smile on the guy’s face that makes Steve think of the glow Nancy seems to have nowadays. Stupid in love. Happy. He envies the man before him but also feels a little robbed. Jonathan Byers, an artsy photographer and generally quiet man, is someone he has a hard time hating so he doesn’t  _ anymore _ . There’s an edge to his tolerance of him, however. An unspoken dislike because, well, Jonathan is living the life Steve wanted. Married to Nancy and starting a family. Young and excited about their future. 

“You here to see Nancy?” He tries asking casually, when really what he wants to say is  _ what the hell do you want? _ Jonathan shakes his head, adjusts the camera bag on his shoulder.

“No, I’m working.” There’s a big grin on his face. “The school hired me to do the kids’ pictures.” He quickly waves a hand. “Well, my studio, but…” Steve puts the dots together. 

“Congratulations, man. That’s great.” Really, he feels a little surprise. Jonathan generally did more fashion oriented shoots in the city, not photographing a bunch of grade school kids. 

“Yeah, trying to get more steady work.” The guy shrugs. “With a baby on the way…” He grins again and Steve can feel a groan in his chest, begging to be set free.

“BYERS.” Hargrove’s voice startles them both and Steve glares when the blond appears in his doorway. “If you’re gonna clutter up my gym all  _ freaking _ day with your junk, the least you can do is  _ stay _ with it.”

Jonathan offers an apologetic smile as he rushes towards the door. 

“Good seeing you, Steve.” He says gently, then vanishes from sight. Steve waits for Hargrove to follow, but he doesn’t. Instead, the guy lingers, saunters into his classroom and looks around. 

“Chummy with your ex’s new squeeze, huh?” The guy asks, frowning as he leans in to inspect a kindergartener’s work, taped to a wall. He’s wearing a shirt that looks like it’s maybe a size too small and Steve wants to point out that they make  _ larger sizes _ . But then he wouldn’t be able to see the way his biceps push the boundaries of the sleeves. 

“They’re married. It’s a little different.” Steve hears himself muttering, even though he means what he says about as much as he likes  _ saying _ it. 

“It sure is.” Hargrove pokes at tissue paper glued to construction paper and Steve clears his throat. 

“You need something?” The edge in his voice finally makes an appearance, the annoyed tone rising to the surface after he’d managed to keep it pushed away for Jonathan’s sake. But for Hargrove, Steve lets it simmer, lets it climb up his spine and tickle. 

And the guy snorts.

“If I needed something, Harrington, I’d ask.” 

In the same way he’d wandered in, Hargrove wanders out, like strolling into classrooms uninvited isn’t  _ rude  _ or something. 

  
  


Dustin is the first of his supposed friends to wish him Happy Birthday. Ironically, there are more birthday well wishes on his facebook wall than the number he’s received in person when Dustin grabs him by both shoulders and shakes him. He nearly suffocates on a mouthful of turkey sandwich as his friend plops down in the chair beside him. 

“Happy Birthday, old chap!” Dustin cries, proud of his terrible english accent, obviously, shooting Steve a toothy grin. Nancy pauses halfway through a mouthful of pasta salad and her eyes go wide in horror.  _ Yeah _ . Steve thinks. 

_ Oops. _

“Steve…” She swallows and instantly her face is set in a pathetic, guilty expression. “It totally slipped my mind…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He tries to brush the thought away but Dustin is clapping him on the shoulder again and he’s  _ really  _ tempted to shove the guy out of his chair.

“It’s the big THREE OH, man. We gotta celebrate!” 

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“My idea of celebrating is  _ not _ babysitting you and your weird, drunk friends.”

“Not babysitting, old man.” Dustin wags his eyebrows and Steve snorts. “Wingman Dustin is at your service, good sir.” He announces  _ loudly _ and a hot blush fills Steve’s cheeks. “Next stop, pound town.”

Dustin’s stupidity wrenches a hard laugh from Steve’s chest. It feels nice; so he does it again. And again, until his ribs hurt. 

Nancy is laughing too, her mouth curling upwards as she presses her fingertips to her lips.

“Seriously, my man.” Dustin hits him again and this time Steve  _ does _ shove him, until he nearly topples over. “We need to get you laid. After that disaster of a date—”

“Jesus, Dustin.” Steve hisses, giving his friend a solid slap on the arm. Nancy’s smile slips on her face a little, interest sparkling in her eyes. 

“You had a date?” She inquires with a sweet voice. Steve holds in a groan because talking about his love life with his ex is  _ exactly _ what he wanted to do at lunch. 

“Not really.”

“Except he did.” Dustin butts in and Steve debates smothering him. “And he didn’t even ask for her number.”

“Steve.” Nancy purses her lips like she’s disappointed and he groans, rubs his hands down his face in a dramatic show of  _ why the hell is my life so stupid _ . “Was she nice?”

“She’s a designer.” Dustin offers before Steve can  _ murder _ him and grins at the glare being leveled in his direction. “And a Libra.” 

“Why don’t  _ you _ date her then.” Steve mutters. “You meddling twerp.”

“I’m a dedicated bachelor.” His friend pats his chest like he’s proud of being single. Steve doesn’t mind being single...but he’s not walking around puffing himself up over being alone  _ either _ .

Hargrove strolls in the room and doesn’t miss a beat, steals the comeback right out of his mouth. 

“Bachelor is just another way of saying alone, Henderson. Don’t pretend.” He quips, tugging open the fridge to yank a water bottle from the shelf. 

“Agreed.” Steve adds, arching a brow at Dustin while the guy’s mouth falls open. Like he’s been  _ betrayed _ .

“I happen to like being single, thanks.” Dustin says loudly, as if volume makes him sound convincing. 

“Like not getting laid too?” Hargrove asks with a deadpan expression. Steve laughs and some of his water hits the back of his nose, which results in a loud coughing fit, turning him bright red. Nancy, even though she’s enormous, reaches over the table to pat him on the back while Dustin just watches.  _ Smirking _ .

“Serves you right.”

“Still funny.” Steve croaks when he can safely breathe again. Hargrove is watching from the counter, water bottle to his lips as he leans back, his stomach flexing under his shirt. It’s made from one of those wicking materials and it shows off every line of his muscular frame. 

Which is just  _ distracting _ .

“For your information, I don’t have trouble with the ladies.” Dustin shoots across the room. “Where as we all know there’s no line forming for your  _ charming _ ass.” He adds.

“Oh I can be charming when I want to be.” Hargrove  _ purrs _ . “Don’t doubt it, mop top.” For some reason, Steve knows he’s telling the truth. Knows that, looking like he does, Hargrove probably never goes home alone. He probably has his pick from the women in any bar, can be as choosy as he likes. Steve used to do the same in college, when hooking up was like a sport rather than something personal. After Nancy? He feels exposed when he thinks about getting naked with another person. 

Bare and vulnerable.

“Don’t you have a class right now?” Nancy asks Hargrove, like he’s a fresh pile of dog shit, and he grins. His smile reminds Steve of sharks. 

Oddly enough.

“They’re with your husband, Wheeler. Thought he could use a little  _ play time _ .”

“You left him alone with a  _ whole class _ ?” She sounds distraught and Steve is annoyed that her tone makes his blood pressure rise, like he’s going to leap to her aid. 

“That’s  _ your _ job, Hargrove. Not Jonathan’s.” He sighs, tries to sound bored. It’s not hard.

“He’ll live.” Hargrove snorts. As he pushes off the counter and saunters back out the door, Nancy visibly bristles. 

“How and why is that asshole an educator?” She hisses under her breath when he’s out of sight. “He’s a horrible person.”

“He’s a  _ gym teacher _ .” Dustin points out. “I don’t think they set the bar all that high.” He glances at Steve. “No offense.” 

“What does that m—“

“Besides have you seen his arms?” Dustin plows ahead, shoves half his sandwich in his mouth in one go. “He can probably even bench press  _ you _ , Nance.” 

Steve chokes on his water again. This time, Nancy doesn’t pat his back.

  
  


That night, Dustin gets him mildly drunk before he dares to ask Steve what he looks for in a man. The last beer Steve remembers drinking is number twelve. 

  
  


saturday 

“You don’t remember anything?” Dustin is talking far too loudly over his waffles and Steve groans into his coffee cup, pledges silently that he will never  _ ever _ drink again. Which, honestly, is like lying to  _ himself _ because he knows he’ll be drunk again in under a week. 

He’s a teacher for  _ fuck’s _ sake.

It’s required.

“I remember that I asked you to stop shouting a minute ago.” He grumbles, staring at his friend over his Ray Bans. “People in Sweden can hear you.” 

“You really don’t remember?” Dustin is shaking his head, his curls dancing around his ears. “I can’t believe you don’t remember.” 

“Jesus, either spit it out or shut up.” His coffee tastes burnt, like he’d gotten the dregs of a nearly empty pot instead of fresh. It  _ sucks _ but he’s not deterred. He’s survived teacher’s lounge coffee for over five years. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not the worst thing he’s put in his mouth in the last twenty-four hours.  

“You told me I was  _ gross _ .” Dustin whines. 

Steve laughs at that, which he immediately regrets when his head gives a pointed  _ throb _ . Dustin isn’t amused. His mouth is turned down at the corners when he continues. “You said you like curly hair and I have  _ curly hair _ —”

“For fuck’s sake.” The foggy memory of Dustin poking and prodding him for details on his preferences in  _ men _ starts to rise to the surface. “Why would you even go there?”

“Science!” Dustin exclaims. Steve points a finger at him and glares.

“If you yell one more time—”

“I can’t find you a boyfriend if I don’t know what you like, buddy.”

“You’re buying breakfast.” He mumbles into his coffee. “And then I’m never speaking to you again.” 

“I’m the wounded party here.” Dustin gestures between them with animated arms but somehow manages to keep his voice from rising to frantic squawking. “I was being a good friend and you called me  _ gross. _ ”

“I called you  _ gross _ when you asked if I thought you were attractive.” 

“It’s a fair question.”

“It’s gross.” Steve sighs when the waitress makes her way over to their table and he sees the fresh pot of coffee in her hand. She fills his cup and Dustin, thankfully, waits until she leaves. 

“I was trying to establish a baseline.”

“Dustin.” Steve sips his coffee loudly, lets the scalding liquid burn the tip of his tongue before he swallows it down and levels a stare across the table. “You’re like a brother to me.” His friend’s expression shifts and Steve can see a hint of a smile under exasperation. “Which is why talking about you like that is  _ gross _ .” 

The answer seems to work and Steve takes three long sips of coffee before Dustin speaks again. 

“So you don’t remember saying Hargrove has a nice ass?” 

Steve splashes a little of his coffee on the table and curses, wiping up the mess with a paper napkin as Dustin smirks. 

“I said what now?” 

“After you  _ insulted _ me, you started yammering on about khakis—”

“Oh god.” Steve rubs his face with both hands and can still smell the hops oozing out of his pores. 

“And when I asked why you were talking about khakis, guess what you said?” Dustin is full-on taunting him now with a smile full of teeth and his hands clasped together on the table. 

“Dustin—”

“You said that  _ Hargrove _ wears the wrong size because he likes to show off his  _ assets _ .” Steve closes his eyes. Wishes he’d stayed in bed instead of letting Dustin drag him out for pancakes. “You giggled too.” 

“I was  _ drunk _ , Dustin.” 

“You were  _ giggling,  _ Steve. Over  _ Billy Hargrove _ .” 

  
  


_ Fuck. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is too damn likable _apparently_. Dustin's a terrible wingman. And dreams start to flavor reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I'm slow af at this whole _writing_ thing but I'm trying. hope you enjoy and happy holidays!

monday

He’s only been in his classroom for a _minute_ when Nancy walks in.

Really, he’s far too _tired_ to deal with his ex before eight in the morning. Not to mention he’s still working off the hangover he nursed all weekend. He’s not twenty anymore, as his birthday made him so _painfully_ aware. But Nancy’s got her arms full of stuff and he’s not an _asshole_ , so he gets up and relieves her of a large plastic bag, which brings a sigh of relief to her lips. She smiles, a hand on her belly, and gives him a small peck on the cheek.

There was a time that he lived for that kind of affection from Nancy Wheeler. Would have chewed his own arm off to get it, for just a moment.

Now he just wants her to get to the _point_.

“I know this is late, but…” She sets a big, glass baking pan on his desk, whips off the aluminum foil that covers the top.

It’s a cake.

Homemade, chocolate, and thickly iced too.

He loves it. And hates how it makes him feel so _warm_ inside. In fancy script, that Nancy must have _somehow_ piped herself, is _Happy Birthday Steve_.

And for a moment, he thinks he might cry. Even though his birthday was _last week_.

“Nance.” Giving her a hard hug, he manages to keep his hips away as to avoid pressing up against her belly. But she doesn’t let him half-ass it. Nancy pulls him closer and holds him.

“I’m sorry for forgetting.” She breathes into his neck, her little face against his collarbone. “I know how hard your birthdays can be—”

“It’s no big deal, really.” He’s already waving it off, like he _didn’t_ get trashed on his birthday out of partial self-pity. “I’ll have plenty more.”

“Speaking of more...” She chirps and takes the plastic bag he’s still clutching in one hand. From inside, she produces a big, ridiculous button that reads _Birthday Boy_.

He tries to escape.

He really does.

 

 

It’s soggier outside than usual when Steve walks out into the front parking lot. He can _smell_ the morning and it feels damp on his skin.

For a minute he’s just breathing in the cool air, wishing like hell that it was Friday.

He needs a nap. Or twelve.

But then suddenly he’s smelling the rich, dark tones of Arabica and he knows he isn’t alone on the sidewalk.

Hargrove snorts and Steve tries to pretend he’s suddenly deaf.

“Please tell me that says birthday girl.” The guy’s tone sounds playful but his voice is rough. Gravelly.

It sends a little shiver up Steve’s spine, imagining that voice as he blinks awake. Rolls over in cool sheets.

“It says ‘go away’.” He replies, his retort admittedly _lame_ but he’s too tired to try. Not that he’d win in a battle of snark with Hargrove _anyway._

The guy has a talent for one liners.

“I saw the princess carrying a bunch of shit from her car.” The teasing tone is _gleeful_. “Did she make you a pity cake?”

Steve hadn’t really thought about it but, actually, that’s _exactly_ what she’d done.

Pity party, table for one.

Steve swallows down bile in an attempt to keep from knocking Hargrove’s coffee out of his hand like a _child_. But it doesn’t stop his temper from flaring up, hot and mean in his gut.

Doesn’t stop him from saying the first thing to pop into his head.

“Suck my dick, Hargrove.” He snaps, turning to glare into the guy’s face.

And, for once, he actually looks taken aback for a second. Before he sputters a laugh and his unshaven face cracks into a smile.

“Not setting a very good example there, Harrington.”

It would just _figure_ he’d point that out, just as a gaggle of kindergartners stampede from the doors of a bus. That way, Steve is wearing a big dumb button on his shirt and a red face to match.

He _hates_ how easy it is for the guy to get under his skin.

“What’s that poster in your classroom say?” Hargrove murmurs to him, voice lowering even deeper, if possible. “If you have nothing nice to say—”

“God, do you ever _shut up_ ?” Steve hisses through a truly _fake_ smile. There are too many little eyes on him to send Hargrove a scowl. Too many little mouths to spread a story about Mr. Harrington being mean to Mr. Hargrove in front of the school.

A building full of elementary school kids is worse than _twitter_.

When Steve glances over his shoulder at Hargrove -- his jaw aching from how hard he’s clenching his mouth closed -- the fucker smirks back.

“Looks like someone needs their birthday spankings.” He purrs.

And suddenly Steve’s face is red for an entirely different reason. Hargrove doesn’t miss it. He laughs low in his chest before he walks away, coffee cup to his lips.

 

 

“Dammit, Steve. This is a disaster.”

Dustin’s tendency towards the dramatic usually makes Steve laugh. But he’s a little too preoccupied with the second piece of chocolate cake that he’s shoveling into his mouth when Dustin charges into his classroom and plops on his desk.

With two fingers the guy helps himself to a piece of the cake on Steve’s plate.

Steve suppresses the urge to stab him with his plastic fork.

“What now?” He mutters, his mouth full of moist Duncan Hines. He’s probably got chocolate all over his teeth.

But he couldn’t care less.

“What _now_?” Dustin snorts and tries to go for more of Steve’s cake. Tugging his plate out of reach, he points at the pan with his fork and makes a face.

“Get your own.”

“I’m on a diet, you know that.” Dustin grumps, then helps himself to a generous slice.

Steve didn’t know he was on a diet. He actually can’t even remember Dustin using the word _diet_ before in his life.

But he doesn’t say that.

He just snorts as his friend loads half a piece of cake onto his fork and hauls it into his mouth.

It’s impressive.

“What’s a disaster?” He repeats. Dustin nods, swallows his profoundly _large_ mouthful before he answers.

“You’re so goddamn _likable._ ”

Steve snorts again.

“I’ve been called worse. By better.” He winks and then licks the icing off his fork, sucks it clean. It’s the good kind, the fudge kind. The stuff he used to steal out of his mother’s pantry and eat with a spoon while he smoked a bowl after school.

That _thick_ shit.

“Lucas and Mike want to throw you a party.” Dustin groans, rolling his eyes for dramatic affect. But Steve feels like someone wrapped him a warm blanket, the tension running off his shoulders. Dustin makes a face at him. “Don’t _grin_ like that. They’re still the assholes who forgot about your birthday. Just like Nancy.”

Steve sighs, the warm feeling gone in an instant.

“Thanks for bringing _that_ up again.” He mutters. Staring at the cake for a moment, he debates eating another piece.

Instead, he just stabs at a corner of a piece with his fork and starts eating right out of the pan.

Dustin pulls the pan away and Steve grunts his displeasure.

“No one even got you a birthday card, okay?” The guy points to his own face with his chocolate-covered fork. “I got you one. And a gift card.”

“You got me a Sears gift card. And it had $43.12 on it.”

“That’s a _great gift_.” Dustin feigns injury, holding a hand over his chest. But not before he shoves more cake in his mouth. “I wish someone would give _me_ a Sears gift card.”

“Someone _did_.” Steve laughs, shaking his head.

Dustin’s sheepish smile splits his face from ear to ear.

 

 

He leaves the remainder of the cake in the teacher’s lounge with a note for people to help themselves. But not before Hargrove walks in and spots the half-eaten cake and smirks.

 _Asshole_.

 

 

tuesday

Steve wakes up an hour earlier than usual, sweating through his sheets and cock throbbing between his legs.

All he can remember from his dream is the smell of Arabica and the taste of Duncan Hines.

When he reaches down and _rubs_ , he tries not to think about what that might say about him. Tries not to moan when he finds release all too easily.

 

 

An email goes out before the morning bell rings.

A surprise baby shower for Mrs. Nancy Byers.

Cupcakes and presents and all things nice for the newest expecting parent at Stockholm Elementary. Which, if he was a good person, wouldn’t bother Steve.

But it _bothers_ him.

Not only did Nancy dump him for Jonathan Byers, but now he’s expected to pitch in for gifts for their new baby. Like a chump.

Some childish part of him wants to delete the email and pretend he never saw it.

Instead, he sends Flo a reply that he’s good for $40.

 

 

wednesday

“How many boyfriends have you had?”

Dustin was never one for subtly, but plowing into a conversation about his sex life in the middle of the teacher’s lounge is bold.

Even for him.

Nancy, thankfully, had left only moments prior and Steve is alone with his best friend and a truly terrible grilled chicken salad.

“You are seriously the _worst_.” He groans, mouth full of food and shoulders tight.

Dustin doesn’t seem to hear him. Or _care_.

“Are we talking one? Three? Five? We talking a football team?”

“Jesus, I’m _eating_.” Not that fucking a football team turns his stomach so much as talking to Dustin about fucking a football team _does_.

“Answer the question, Steven.” Dustin pries. “Do I need to start you off with training wheels? Or can we go full dirt bike from go?”

“I’m not talking to you about this.”

In truth the answer is zero. He’s never actually _dated_ a guy. The number of guys he’s had sex with, however, is not zero in the slightest.

That number has a couple of digits.

“Do you want to go to your own birthday party _alone_ or do you want to have a sexy stud on your arm?” Dustin asks, shrugging a shoulder like _sexy studs_ are aplenty and he’s got a couple lined up and waiting. Like a gay man’s pimp.

Steve answers by shoving a large fork full of salad into his trap. And chews.

“How many girls have you dated?” He asks, mouth still full. Dustin frowns.

“We’re not talking about me—”

“Why not?” Steve shoves his salad aside, makes a mental note to _never_ buy Tyson frozen chicken breasts on sale again, and clasps his hands on the table. Tries to emulate his best friend’s _annoying_ tendency to interrogate people during lunch. “Do I need to start you off with training wheels, Dustin?”

A little smile tickles at the corner of his mouth when Dustin rolls his eyes, flops back in his seat.

_Drama queen._

“Fine, just _forget it_ . I’m not trying to _help_ you or anything.”

“You’re really _not_ helping me.” Steve grins. “You’re being nosy under the guise of _helping_ me.”

“Why would I want to know about your dating history, if not to _help_ you?”

“Because you’re worse than freaking Barbara at Central Office.” Steve snorts, getting up to toss his salad in the trash. “Like, you knew about Lucas and Max before anyone else did. Hell, Mike _lives_ with the guy and he didn’t know.”

“Mike has the IQ of a trout.” Dustin snaps, still pouting in his chair. Steve points to the phone on the wall, lifts his eyebrows conspiratorially and Dustin rolls his eyes. “Max left the toilet seat down for a week.”

And he, really, doesn’t have any idea what the fuck _that’s_ supposed to mean.

 

 

thursday

Max brings him a latte after lunch and it’s easily the most suspicious thing she’s ever done.

Ever.

The third graders had just taken their recess outside after a morning of rain -- no doubt splashing in mud and puddles as much as humanly possible -- when Maxine strolls in, a Starbucks cup in each hand. Steve makes a mental note to start shutting his door more often.

People have a tendency to just _waltz_ in on him.

He could be like, busy, or something.

Instead of checking Instagram, closing it, only to open it again. Like that’s a normal thing to do.

In a way, he’s kind of relieved to have the company when Maxine appears in the doorway, hair to one side in a long, loose braid down her left shoulder. She always looks remarkably put together for someone who’s constantly corralling heathens. He commends her mentally before a latte is being thrust in his direction.

“PSL for the basic bitch.” She says with a grin and Steve rolls his eyes.

It’s just a skim latte, like he always gets, but he knows her cup will be filled with ultrasonic dark roast so he doesn’t try to defend himself. He’s happy to have a little kick to his afternoon; one that doesn’t involve the sludge they keep lukewarm in the teacher’s lounge.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He asks as he takes a cautionary sip, then groans and draws hard on the hot drink.

Max shrugs, angles her lean body against his desk in a half slouch as she taps a finger on her cup. He gives her a second, waits for the real reason for her appearing with offerings, and then grins when she sighs.

“Lucas is being a prick.”

Steve snorts, sets his coffee on his desk.

“What happened?”

“My lease is up in a month…”

“Ah.”

“Don’t _ah_ me. We’re moving in together and it’s _great_.”

Steve only waits. Patiently.

Sips his latte.

Max eventually groans and shoves his shoulder, which Steve recognizes as Maxine speak for _you’re right_.

“He won’t even _look_ at apartment listings.” She sighs and sets her coffee on his desk. “It’s like, I don’t have a place to live next month and if I wasn’t actively _trolling_ Zillow, I’d probably end up sleeping in his bed, with all my shit in storage.”

Steve nods, hums like he has something to offer. Which he really _doesn’t._

“And the idea of living with him, Mike, El and Will in a three bedroom house _isn’t_ a thrill?”

“Not _really_ no.” She snorts. “I mean, El told them they needed to put away the DnD shit for your party and like, it’s _Thursday_ and most of it is _still_ out.”

“You realize I don’t even know where my vacuum is, right?” Steve asks and Max laughs, punches him lightly in the arm.

“Ew.” Her laughter eases something in Steve’s stomach, makes him smile despite himself. “So you’re gonna actually show up, right? You’re not gonna bail at the last second with some lame excuse like your fish died?”

Steve snorts. Takes a long sip.

“I don’t have a fish.”

“Don’t get one.” She winks at him, grins. “I have a feeling you’d manage to kill a succulent without trying.”

“Thanks for the vote of _confidence_.”

“Seriously though.” She pokes him in the shoulder with one nail. “Mike and Lucas are actually sort of trying for once. And they feel bad.” Shrugging one shoulder, she rolls her eyes. “I blame facebook. I can’t remember shit without those dumb birthday reminders.”

Oddly enough, Steve knows she genuinely means it.

“I’m not going to miss the party, but honestly, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Dustin said you two went out and got wasted that night.” A single arched brow is a lot of judgement from Max, so Steve sighs.

“Shut up.” His smile is affectionate and her expression softens. Somehow, she always gets him to spill. Or reads his mind. And he’s about to own up to being lonely, to admitting he’d been genuinely miserable on his goddamn birthday, when a voice interrupts.

“Where’s _my_ latte, carrot top?”

The second he appears, Hargrove fills Steve’s classroom with his presence, audibly and visually, in a skin-tight, Nike polo -- which only makes it nearly _impossible_ to avoid staring at his erect nipples. Not to mention the rest of the menu: built chest, hard stomach and narrow waist.

Steve reins himself in with a long pull on his coffee.

“Get your own, ape.” Max shoots back without batting an eyelash, bringing her coffee to her lips with a pointed lift of her brow.

Hargrove eyes the latte in Steve’s hand and, for a fleeting second, Steve considers offering him a sip. He squashes the impulse as Hargrove holds out a hand, palm up, and wiggles his fingers.

“Share, _Maxine._ ”

To Steve’s amazement, Max rolls her eyes, and then does just that. She holds out her coffee and Hargrove takes a long gulp until she smacks his pec and the drink is returned.

But not without a growl.

“Okay _ow_. No hitting in school. Jesus, who raised you?”

“God, go away, Billy. I’m visiting _Steve_. Not you.”

And, honestly, Steve is baffled. First by the first name basis, and the sass being casually exchanged.

“What if I came by to see _Steve_ too, Maxine?” Hargrove drawls.

Suddenly, Steve is a little warm in the face.

Too much latte, he rationalizes.

“Uh, did you need me?” He asks.

Both look at him like he’s an idiot. Which, _clearly_ , he is.

“Steve, don’t listen to him.” Max murmurs. “He’s just being a pain.” Leaning forward, she looks the smirking gym teacher in the eye and squints. “Billy. _Go away_.”

“Gimme your coffee.” Hargrove counters.

Steve grins when Max shoves it into his chest, hard enough that a little sloshes out to wet his red polo.

“ _Shit—_ “

“Oops, _sorry_ .” Max says, grinning without a lick of apology on her face while Hargrove scowls and rubs the spot on his shirt. When he looks up, she blinks at him. “ _Bye_.”

Steve almost laughs, but holds it in for fear of pissing the guy off _more_. He’s amazed when, after a heavy pause, Hargrove actually turns to leave, but not without flipping them both off before he slips out the door.

“Um.” Steve blinks up at Max. “What the hell was _that_?”

“What do you call the son of a guy your mom dated for like...five years?” She asks with a sigh. Steve snorts.

“An almost step brother?”

“Sometimes I call him ape.” She replies with a crooked smirk. “But mostly he’s just an asshole.”

Steve shakes his head, looks at the empty doorway.

“No kidding.”

“Too bad Caleb _dumped_ him, ya know? He’s been double the douche after they split.”

And.

Well.

 _Shit_.

 

 

friday

There’s a succulent on his desk in the morning. It’s small, simple, in a little white dish. And, for just a moment, he smiles and he forgets all the reasons he has to be _sad._

 

 

When he goes to grab his lunch, there are pink cupcakes all over the break room and something inside of his chest withers and dies.

He will never _admit it_ but he’s always imagined the baby in Nancy’s belly to be a girl. Imagined a little girl with Nancy’s curls and big eyes.

It absolutely crushes him.

So, of course, he helps Flo put out all fifty cupcakes, plates and napkins. At least then he’s not expected to stick around and clean up.

 

 

There’s glitter under his nails which, of course, he doesn’t _see_ it until he’s standing on the porch of the kids’ house, wearing khakis he hasn’t worn since his dad’s fiftieth birthday brunch at the golf club.

They’re a little wonky in the ass. He’s probably getting fat now that he’s not a starving artist anymore -- he can afford to pack on the pounds.

Which is, not what he needs to be thinking about when Dustin throws open the door and screams, “STEVE-O.”

He really should be thinking about how it’s not even ten o’clock and Dustin is rosy in the cheeks, a telltale sign that he’s already a couple beers in. And he should be thinking that standing on the porch, in khakis, when his friend is wearing a seriously _worn_ Metallica t-shirt makes him look like a fucking idiot.

That and the bottle of shitty rosé that he’s holding like he’s off to some cute little dinner party. Not a rager at a house full of twenty-somethings.

He’s really gotten _bad_ at this.

But the second he’s pulled inside and the bottle of wine is yanked from his hand by Lucas or Max -- he’s not even sure with all the freaking _bodies_ surrounding him -- there’s a beer in its place and Steve swallows a big mouthful of it.

Like, he loves Dustin and the Party and all but, there’s a _ton_ of people in the house. People he doesn’t know, tipping their beers in his direction and shouting _happy birthday_ like he’s supposed to be honored.

He’s too old for red cups of mystery punch and keg stands. He’s too old for nameless girls kissing his cheeks and telling him he gets thirty of them if he’s good. He’s too old but he also hasn’t been laid since he was twenty-nine.

So maybe he steals a couple of kisses from nameless girls. Good kisses, though a little sloppy. A little impersonal. Messy kisses from girls with pretty faces and glazed stares and lips that taste like cherry and vanilla. Pretty girls. Prettier than he’s been with in a long time.

He tries not to think about how the last kiss that meant anything to him was Nancy’s kiss. Soft and sweet and dry. She was never one for flavored gloss. She was always just about Nancy.

It’s not even late before he ducks into the kitchen, hides from the crowds in favor of some quiet. It’s too early to leave and he’s a little too drunk to drive anyway. Not because Uber can’t come get him or anything but that shit isn’t cheap either.

“If I’d known this was your party, Harrington, I wouldn’t have shown.”

Hargrove’s voice is thick and chocolaty in Steve’s ear and he’s too warm, too _affected_ , when he turns and finds the guy slouched against the counter. In jeans and a white t-shirt like he’s some Grease wannabe, watching him with a bottle in one hand.

“No one’s forcing you to stay, asshole.” He snaps, lurching towards the sink in search of _something_ to use to _wipe_. There’s lipstick on his cheek, he can feel the greasy stain on his skin from where it was pressed and smudged.

“Someone’s pissy.” Hargrove is closer, if volume is anything to go by, and Steve turns his head only to reel back at just how _close_ the guy had become. Inches. “You trying to earn those birthday spanks?”

And, like, _no_. He hadn’t forgotten about the joke, or the passive sexual images. They burn under the surface of his skin as Hargrove licks him bottom lip. Bites it.

“You keep offering to spank me, Hargrove. Like you’re _into_ it.” He points out. “Don’t offer if you’re not gonna follow through.”

And that should have been it.

Really.

Maybe a parting jab or something.

But instead Hargrove is crowding him against the sink, his heat and breath and _everything_ so near that Steve can’t _think_ he’s so overwhelmed.

So _flustered_.

“Who says I wouldn’t follow through?” The guy growls. “I don’t _bluff_.”

“You want to spank me thirty times, Hargrove?” Steve asks, lamely, his voice a little too breathy for someone trying to _win_ an argument.

“Billy.” Hargrove says.

His _first_ name. Like Steve’s finally entered some kind of level of _personal_ _acquaintance_ and can now use Hargrove’s name.

Of course, he doesn’t _say_ it. He grinds his jaw and tries to hold _Billy’s_ stare. Tries not to buckle under the guy’s searing gaze. Tries not to look _down_ , at _Billy’s_ mouth.

“You want spanked, Harrington. I’ll spank you.” The guy purrs. And like, he’s not into being spanked. Or being hit _at all_ . But he can’t fucking _speak_ to turn Billy down. To correct him.

Because he’d take it, damn it. If it meant getting _laid_ , he’d let Hargrove spank him thirty times. If it meant _getting off_ , he’d let _Billy_ do whatever he wanted.

He’d give him anything, and the realization is terrifying.

“That’s what I thought.” Billy finally says, stepping away. Giving him _room_. “Don’t offer if you’re not gonna follow through.” The guy mocks him with his own words, swiping a beer off the counter as he strides away. “If you see Max, tell her I said this party sucked.” He tosses over his shoulder before he pushes open the back door and disappears out into the dark yard.

And Steve, well.

He can’t help but feel disappointed.

 

saturday

When he wakes up with morning wood again, Steve lets himself moan a name.

**Author's Note:**

> find me [@hoppnhorn](http://hoppnhorn.tumblr.com)


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